


Force

by silverpaper_toffeepaper



Series: Magnitude and Direction [1]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Rewrite, F/F, Femslash, Gen, Order of the White Lotus, Poverty, Republic City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverpaper_toffeepaper/pseuds/silverpaper_toffeepaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Republic City is in turmoil. The balance of power is shifting, and everyone has a different idea of what the future should hold. </p><p>Korra just wants to be a good Avatar, whatever that means. And maybe make some friends or something.</p><p>(A way the series could have been.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Founder

They get up at first light to hitch a ride to the Avatar’s compound, and immediately run into a problem.

“White Lotus business,” says one of the younger people, a guard not much older than Korra. By the scabs on his knuckles and the way he grips his spear, he’s itching for a fight. “No tourists.”

Tonraq sighs. “We’d like to get to the Avatar’s compound before dark,” he says. “We have no sled, we don’t have a snow-puller, and I’d rather not miss too much work walking if we can help it.”

“This isn’t a taxi,” one of the White Lotus men says, sneering. Tonraq fixes a pleasant smile on his face and forces himself to remember that snow-pullers are small machines. If they successfully catch a lift to the compound, he’s going to be crammed right in with these people for hours.

“What business would you people have with the Avatar?” asks an old woman. The gold cheopji and beaded gloves say she’s Earth Kingdom, moneyed, and highly ranked; the shiver as she shifts in her inadequate shoes tell him she’s new to the South Pole. “She is young, still in seclusion to master her abilities. If you have a message, pass it on to the White Lotus guards and they’ll see it dealt with appropriately.”

“It’s her birthday tomorrow,” says Senna. “I thought it might be a nice surprise to share it with her, for once.”

Tonraq bites down on a curse. Senna’s deliberately not answering the obvious question, mostly because she feels they shouldn’t have to ask. “Your ladyship—“

Before he can explain and probably start an argument, there’s a guttural groaning noise overhead, and a dimming of the light.

He and Senna—and half the White Lotus, Tonraq notes spitefully—start back at the great, pale beast coming in for a landing twenty feet from the road, snow crunching under its paws as its weight settles down. The figure in red and saffron perched just behind its head, shaven head tattooed with blue, completes the picture of the past coming to life right before their eyes.

“What is the delay, Lady Jang?” asks the man on the sky bison.

“These— _tourists_ want to see the Avatar, and beg for a lift to her home!”

The man raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

In a whirl of bright fabric and snow, he swings off the sky bison’s back and strides past the White Lotus at a speed that has Tonraq edging closer to his wife. The man is enormous, his square-cut robes only emphasizing all the space he takes up, but he’s light and sure-footed in the soft, dry snow.

“Master Tenzin!” Senna smiles at the airbender warmly, as if meeting a long-lost friend. “Katara is going to be thrilled to see you. Korra too, of course, but a mother always loves to see her children.”

Oh. Tonraq is an _idiot_. Master airbender means the child of Korra’s favorite teacher.

For his part, Tenzin looks extremely uncomfortable. “You know her, then?”

“Absolutely! I’m Senna, we talk whenever we’re visiting and Korra’s busy with her studies. You have lovely children, judging from the photograph she has.”

“That’s an old picture, Meelo’s grown up a lot since then—“

The White Lotus man who’d grumbled about taxis looks askance at Tonraq and Senna. “You’re her _parents_?”

“Of course,” Tonraq says, affecting surprise. “You didn’t think Korra hatched from an egg or something, do you?”

The White Lotus people mutter amongst themselves, but Tonraq no longer has to care. Tenzin’s grave air is tinged with more than a little smugness when he offers the pair of them a lift. Senna lights up, squeezing his hand, and Tonraq swallows his fear and accepts.

It’s the right call. The day is still young, and the angled light catches on pillars of ice and snowy dunes, throwing dramatic blue shadows across the landscape. The undulation of the sky bison is utterly silent, allowing the passengers to watch penguin seals waddling in and out of ice holes near the edge of the land, or lock eyes with snow eagles hovering in wait for prey. There are no villages here, not for a long way. Tonraq is aware, as he so rarely is these days, of how the South Continent is so huge, and their village is so very small. His heart feels over-full, and the ache both worsens and eases whenever he sees Senna’s gleeful face.

Up ahead at the reins, Tenzin clears his throat. “Are you all right back there? It’ll be a clear morning, I don’t expect any disturbing winds until noon at least. I understand the quiet can be a little unnerving for new riders of sky bison.”

“Just admiring the view, Master Tenzin. We’ve never flown before,” Tonraq explains. “Thank you for your timely offer, by the way.” “Please, no title is necessary. I must apologize for the behavior of the White Lotus. They mean well, but they don’t really… _understand_ family.”

Senna flaps her hand, not looking away from the glittering vista below them. “They’ve always been like that. Sometimes I think they wish Korra was an orphan, they’re so reluctant to involve us in her life.”

“It’s very strange,” says Tonraq. “We’ve never seen any trouble from anyone about Korra being the Avatar. We’ve had a couple of very persistent reporters…”

“Mostly we bore them until they go home,” Senna says. “But no one seriously wants to _hurt_ her. Do they?”

Instead of a refusal, or at least a reassurance, there is quiet. It could be the wind, but Tonraq thinks he hears the tiniest sigh. “I assume most people in the South Pole know you and Korra, and take pride in their Avatar,” Tenzin says eventually. “Elsewhere, there will always be malcontents. Given her youth and inexperience, the White Lotus Society believes she is best kept under their protection.”

“But she’s the Avatar,” Tonraq says, “Shouldn’t she…?”

“We should talk about it with the White Lotus people,” says Senna, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, I mean to discuss a number of points with them today. Your contributions to the discussion could be quite valuable.” Tenzin’s voice is very hard.

Before Tonraq can marshal his thoughts, they crest one last, high ridge, revealing the White Lotus compound. As soon as they’re spotted, there’s a visible flurry of activity. The guards wave and bellow back and forth to each other (Tonraq’s always gotten the feeling that this is the posting for recruits learning discipline the hard way), while a handful of others in the more varied wear of senior White Lotus members gather in an open square near the training arena. Of Korra there is no sign.

“Tonraq, dear, would you like to track down our daughter, or shall I?”

He shrugs. “She’ll turn up.”

“I was told this stage of her training is focused on her firebending, correct?”

“More or less,” says Tonraq.

“Well, traditionally, firebenders in training rise at daybreak until they’ve achieved a certain level of basic mastery with their inner fire. It might not be a perfect rule at this latitude, but in all likelihood, the Avatar is spending this hour deep in meditation.”

Until his wife catches his eye, Tonraq almost manages to keep a straight face. Then they look at each other, and Tonraq can’t hide his silent, open-mouthed laughter when Senna falls into outright cackling. “You’re going to _enjoy_ meeting Korra,” she tells Tenzin. “Just please keep in mind that she loves bending more than anything, including little things like _manners_. She’ll be dancing with Yue to see her airbending teacher at last.”

“Ah, yes, well—“

Before Tenzin can get any further, the sky bison wheels and swoops down. Tonraq clutches for dear life to the saddle, but they’re touching down to the snow faster than he can start praying to his ancestors.

A paunchy older man with a heavy beard—Director Mutu-something, he’s always ‘the Director’ and ‘that patronizing jerk’ in conversation with Senna—steps forward from the head of the welcoming party, gloved fists pressed together in greeting. “Councilor Tenzin, a pleasure to see you here! Senna, Tonraq, welcome to the Avatar Compound.”

“Director Mutukan.” Tenzin’s bow is more of a nod.

Once he and his passengers dismount from the sky bison’s back, the Director bows deeply, the other White Lotus members and guards following just a beat behind him. All but one: trailing behind the bulk of the group is one old woman trudging through the snow, the blue parka as bright as a shout in the camp’s colors of gray-white-beige. She catches the master airbender’s eye and beams.

“Tenzin, my dear, it’s so good to see you!”

Tenzin’s overrobe almost hides his twitch. “Hello, Mother.”

As Mistress Katara makes her way, the men and women of the White Lotus fall silent, with those on the path between her and her son parting before her without a word. Some of the new ones bow, while others lower their eyes. For the first time in years, Tonraq wants to join them. He’s met her before, he _knows_ she doesn’t stand on formality, but he can't help but see her greeting her airbender son and remember, quite suddenly, that this is the woman who brought down the unstoppable favored daughter of Firelord Ozai, who had such a gift for healing she brought Avatar Aang back from the _dead_.

Then she takes Tenzin’s bare hands in her own, smiling while she chafes his fingertips in the absent gesture of every Water Tribe parent whose child has come in from the cold, and she’s just Katara again, Korra’s favorite teacher and the auntie Tonraq never had. “Oh, when are you going to remember to bring along Pema and the grandkids?”

“It’s just a brief visit on behalf of the Council. As busy as we are, and with Pema so far along, I couldn’t possibly take them all away from home.” Tenzin’s brisk professionalism is impeccable, even while he’s flushed all the way up to the point of his forehead’s arrow. “You know you’re always welcome at Air Temple Island.”

“Regardless. I’m very glad you came.” Katara squeezes his hands one last time before she turns to Senna and Tonraq. “And you brought some of my favorite guests, too! Senna, you haven’t been coughing?”

“Not at all! After you healed me, it never returned,” Senna assures her. “Thank you for that. I don’t think Korra ever got the hang of fixing much more than scrapes and bruises.”

The moment Korra’s name is mentioned, the White Lotus people all grimace, their expressions a range from shifty to sour. Tenzin’s eyebrow hitches a fraction higher.

“Speaking of Korra,” Tonraq says, “do you have any idea where she is?”

A chorus of mumbling from everyone dressed in white-gray-beige. Katara rolls her eyes.

“Oh, she and her polar-bear dog have been missing since last night. _Again,_ ” says Katara. “Believe me, we have _plenty_ of time for tea.”

\---------

Every ranking member of the White Lotus is falling over themselves to tell Tenzin that the situation is under control. Director Mutukan does most of the talking, but Senna is certain that the only reason Tenzin doesn’t immediately take off and search for Korra is his mother’s gentle cunning. Tenzin mutters about negligence and search patterns, Katara leans over to touch her hands to the sky bison’s face. A double armful of the snow at her feet collapses into a teakettle’s worth of water, swirling over the animal’s face before dispersing as snowflakes once more.

“Poor Oogi is too tired to stand, much less fly," she says. "Let him _rest_ , little breeze.”

Tenzin turns raw-pottery red. (Senna _barely_ doesn’t laugh.) “Mother—“

The airbender’s protests that he can still search for the missing Avatar from the sky are ignored. Katara’s already dispatching one guard to find someone experienced in grass-eater care, another to open up the barn, while she hands the reins off to a third. In a particularly inspired moment of maternal guile, she even picks up Tenzin’s satchel as if to carry it inside for him.

He snatches it off her shoulder immediately. Oogi takes this as his cue to follow his temporary keeper away. The rest of the group starts drifting towards the compound’s center, and Tenzin finally gives up protesting and follows along.

“What brings you here, Councilor Tenzin?” asks one of the White Lotus people. She’s a tall, thin woman from... somewhere in the Earth Kingdom, Tonraq can’t place her accent. "I thought you didn't want to teach all the way down here."

Tenzin pinches his mouth, hitches the edge of his overrobe a little higher. “I came to assess the Avatar’s current achievements and long-term strategies for her training and introduction to society. Madame Ling, when I tried to think of the worst I could encounter, I had thought of—poor calligraphy, perhaps, or an incomplete education in earthbending, or possibly a terrible fear of public speaking.”

The multitude of suppressed groans and snickers would have been mostly hidden by the crunching snow, but it’s entirely drowned out by the guffaw of one particular man at Tonraq’s left. Tenzin sends him a quelling look.

“No, no, go on, this is _great_ ,” says the loud man. “Outside perspective, marvelous thing, keep going.”

“I would think it wouldn’t take an outsider’s perspective to see that the disappearance of the Avatar is a serious issue!”

Another man, this one with the darker skin and narrow nose of the Northern Water tribe, holds up a hand in a calming gesture. “It’s only an issue if she is actually gone, rather than enjoying a clear day with Naga.”

“Please tell me there isn’t a, ah, paramour somewhere—“

“Her polar-bear dog, Tenzin. Keep your hair on,” says the laughing man. The glare he receives is entirely ignored.

“Myong, please,” says Director Mutukan. “Let’s not get too excited.”

They finally reach the large building that holds the Avatar compound’s offices and meeting hall, where a woman Senna’s age with ink stains on her sleeve holds the door for them all to file in. The conversation pauses while everyone stomps the snow off their shoes. Katara, trailing at the end, clears the slush out the door with a sweep of her arms while conferring with the doorwoman about refreshments for twenty.

To Senna, the buildings in most of the White Lotus compound have always felt about as warm and welcoming as the Society itself. Everything is brown, white, and gray, with too-high ceilings and too-big rooms that ensure it’s always freezing at ground level. Pack them with people, however, and Senna finds them much more tolerable. Everyone jostles elbows as they arrange themselves around the line of pushed-together tables in the biggest conference room. Scraps of polite small talk and the pair of guards distributing tea and cookies relieves the atmosphere, softening the jumble of orders from Director Mutukan’s end of the room.

Tenzin is visibly clenching his teeth on a tirade. Senna maneuvers to sit right across from him, Tonraq warming her right side and Katara settled at her left once she’s acquired tea of her own.

“I found out she was missing only very early this morning, an hour or so before dawn,” says Katara. The rest of the room quiets. She begins twirling a hand over her cup, spinning the tea inside. “I like to sit in Naga’s stable when I’m up at night. It’s warm in there, and I never do get tired of seeing a polar-bear dog up close. When I saw that Naga and her saddle were gone, I checked Korra’s room. Then I waited by the door until it was clear she was going to be very late for breakfast before informing the captain of the guard.”

“The Avatar was missing,” says Tenzin through gritted teeth. “You didn’t think to raise the alarm?”

“She’s always back before her lessons. Most days, I just tell her tutors that she’s too tired to be feisty and let them handle her as they see fit.”

He has no reply, but the huff through his nose speaks volumes.

On the surface, Katara is serene as any grandmother making idle conversation over tea. However, Senna would bet a season’s haul of yellow unagi that the gentle old lady is deliberately winding up her youngest son. She just can’t work out _why_.

“Councilor Tenzin, it would be easier to explain if you had ever met the Avatar,” says Director Mutukan. “She’s outspoken, intelligent, and ferociously talented, and it’s a known fact among the White Lotus that she’s been feeling a little stifled here for some time now. Her recent firebending assessment has proven that there’s precious little left we of the White Lotus can teach her of bending without you.”

“I fail to see what this has to do with your carelessness.”

A clack as the Director’s teacup strikes the table. “Councilor Tenzin, she is bored.”

It’s the nearest thing to irritation she’s ever heard out of him. Senna awards another point in Tenzin’s favor for cracking Mutukan’s pleasant mask.

Director Mutukan takes a deep breath and releases it. “While her spiritual discipline leaves much to be desired, Avatar Korra’s _physical_ ability is absolutely unparalleled… in the first three elements. When she is challenged, she tolerates the finer points of education in Avatar diplomacy. When she regards her bending exercises as rote work, she does not. Apart from physically tying her to a chair—”

“Wouldn’t work,” Tonraq whispers to Senna.

“—we are at a loss as to how we’re supposed to keep her in place. Much less why, when there is little reason for it. I understand your reluctance to leave your home, but that’s why we had previously agreed that this stage of her education could take place in Republic City.”

Senna glares daggers in his direction, since they’ve never heard a _whisper_ of this agreement, and almost misses the nervous flick of the eyes Tenzin throws her way.

“There are potential complications,” he says, “which are very clear in the reports I’m sure we’ve all read.”

“Please. Rumors and squabbling,” someone else says. “That is how it _always_ starts.” Tenzin’s voice nearly a growl.

The man who’d mocked Tenzin so earlier, Myong, toys with a fountain pen. “Journey of a thousand miles begins with a single yeah-yeah-yeah, come on, we all know this dance.” He looks around the room, at the other White Lotus people. “Right? We do. Not saying you’re wrong, I’m just not seeing everything you are. The paper only says so much. Is all that trouble on the mainland really so bad?”

“It has the potential to be worse,” says Tenzin. “It’s hard to quantify to someone who doesn’t know Republic City, but there’s something different in the air—I’d prefer to explain when the rest of the Council’s representatives are here.”

“You have no idea of the strength and natural ability the Avatar has,” says Director Mutukan. “I can accept your concern as valid, but the sentiments of disgruntled university students and factory workers are hardly cause for such alarm as to keep her here indefinitely.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that the Avatar is _not safe_? She may be talented, but she’s barely more than a child, and currently her greatest defense is her remote location. Should she leave the South Continent, there is more at stake here than property damage and hurt feelings—“

“ _So my daughter’s not home yet_ ,” Tonraq interrupts, “and we’re all pretty upset about it.”

Everyone in the room looks his way with a certain amount of surprise. Tonraq is known to be taciturn with strangers, polite to a fault and unwilling to rock the boat. It’s been a long morning, though, and he is very clearly done with being tugged around in the tangle of the White Lotus’s nets.

“Korra’s a smart kid. She grew up around here, she knows the area. And she’s Water Tribe. We’re pretty hard to drown or freeze even if you aren’t a waterbender.”

“Spoken wisely,” says Katara.The Northern Water Tribe raises his teacup in a half-salute.

“She’s fearless, too. She likes people. Everyone in the South Pole is Water Tribe and proud of their Avatar, or White Lotus, so everyone likes her back.” He settles his weight back, wrapping his hands around his teacup. “Korra's young, but she’s not stupid. People expect her to be an adult or a child, whatever’s handy to them, and that would be tough on anyone’s patience. She’s gonna head out eventually, with or without a White Lotus guardian. And she’ll meet people who aren’t Water Tribe or White Lotus. Tell me, because you haven't told us: what will happen to her then?”

The thing is, Senna and her husband have talked about this, late at night when the mending’s done and they’ve turned the oil lamps down. Korra has enough personality for ten people. She's got a good heart, but she just hasn’t had much opportunity to socialize casually, especially around people her own age. She never expects anyone to have priorities besides ‘Korra’s health and happiness’ or ‘White Lotus business’, which are more or less the same thing anyway. And sometimes it shows, and people are angry with her, and poor Korra genuinely doesn’t know why. It terrifies her to think of what she'll do in a situation like whatever the White Lotus keeps hinting around off in the north.

After a beat, Director Mutukan collects himself. “Thank you, Tonraq, those are valuable points of consideration,” he says. Senna wants to strangle him. “It’s true that everyone around here is very fond of Avatar Korra, and the White Lotus is an excellent source of revenue for the locals, so we have a certain amount of goodwill there. We’ve radioed the villages to keep an eye out for anything unusual. The lookouts have been alerted. Any of the guards with the wit and gear to search the immediate area is doing so. I agree with many of your concerns regarding security, Councilor Tenzin. That’s why we’re keeping the matter quiet until we’ve reached a genuine state of emergency.”

“I would be very interested in hearing what you consider a state of emergency. A week, perhaps? A year?”

“There is hardly going to be a _second_ iceberg incident, Councilor." The combined glares of the last living Air Nomad and his mother would freeze the blood of lesser folk. Director Mutukan merely barrels on. “I’m only trying to be realistic. Speaking to her future teacher, I hate to bias you, but if we sounded the alarm every time Avatar Korra slipped away we’d never get anything done.”

“What do you get done, exactly?” Senna asks. “Because from what I can see, you spend your days handing her off to a succession of grumpy old Pai Sho fanatics and arguing about whose turn is it to get annoyed with her for being a teenager.”

“As the Avatar, she has a duty to her people...“

“None of which she’s ever _met_."

"Nonsense, she's had a wonderful education--"

"Hah! From a hundred and fifty teachers!"

“We are losing sight of the issue here—“

“EXCUSE THE INTERRUPTION!”

A young White Lotus guard clings to the doorway, wheezing for breath. The sudden attention of the whole room has her swallowing hastily. “She’s… uh… the Avatar’s back.”

The Director rubs a hand over his face. “I assume she’s riding Naga home, waving at the guards and generally trying to pretend she hasn’t been gone half a day?”

“Uh, not really waving much, Director. Actually she looked pretty badly hurt.”

\---------

Korra’s flopped face-first on Naga’s rolling back, thinking wistful thoughts about hot baths and wheedling Sifu Katara into healing her aching everything, when she hears someone shouting her name from a long way off.

“Izzat Mom?” she mumbles into the saddle.

Naga breaks into a trot, then a gallop.

“Ow, ow, definitely Mom, ow--" Korra has to sit upright or risk bouncing off Naga’s back.

“Whoa, Mom _and_ Dad came! And they’re… running?” She squints, wincing against the pull of the huge scab and the swelling black eye on one side of her face. “There’s like fifteen people all out there--wait. Is that…?”

Her eyes widen. The scab cracks as she breaks into a huge open-mouthed grin. “Naga, that’s totally my airbending teacher! C’mon, c’mon!”

Naga picks up speed towards the open gate, heedless of the guards shouting concern and irritation down at her. It’s not the first time, after all, and Korra’s got a teacher to impress. The White Lotus geezers see her face and back up, but her parents stumble to a halt, and Tenzin just keeps running.

“Hey, girl, remember that thing I taught you?” She knocks on the pommel of the saddle.

The polar-bear dog’s stride hitches a fraction in acknowledgement. Korra hops up on the balls of her feet, takes a deep breath, and _leaps_.

The second she pushes off the saddle, Naga pulls her head down and twists her back paws, clearing Korra’s flight path and incidentally throwing up a really cool spray of snow as she slides to a halt. She does that perfectly, because Korra’s practiced this with her a million times. Once in the air, Korra curls up in a ball and jets out fire from her feet, which steams up snow that Korra can lock into a shiny platform of ice, and then while she’s coming in for a landing she pulls through its center a square of stone jerked up from underfoot, capped in a cushion of snow, to form a modest little throne.

The bending goes perfectly. It’s just that she usually hasn’t pulled basically every muscle in her body, knocked her head, and then spent an hour shivering in a damp parka, so her flight falls short in the most literal sense possible: smack against the back of the low throne, which bangs her shins and flips her flat on her face at the hem of Tenzin’s robe. He doesn’t look very impressed.

“Sifu Tenzin!” she gasps. “Uh, you are Tenzin, right?”

Silence. With eyebrows like that, though, he doesn’t have to say much.

“Right. Uh. As you can see, I’ve mastered the bending arts of water, earth, and fire.” Korra staggers to her feet, wipes the blood off her face, and bows. “I am so, so honored to be your airbending student.”

No response. Tenzin looks like he’s trying to remember how to talk.

Korra had always kind of figured that, upon meeting his Avatar for the very first time, he’d be enormously impressed and immediately swear on his father’s honor to unlock her secret potential for airbending. Frozen silence was not a response she’d ever planned for.

She really, really hurts right now, and she’s super cold and her parents are _right there_ looking all worried at her.“I need to go talk to my mom and dad, okay? It’s so great to meet you but I’ll be back in juuuust a second.”

Somewhere in the back of the group of senior White Lotus people, she can hear Myong start laughing and laughing, gasping for air, until Korra’s father breaks free of her embrace and gently kicks his knees out from under him.

\---------

After a full thirty seconds of confused interrogation and scolding from all sides, Senna shouts, “All right, all right, BREAK IT UP! Everyone shut up a minute!” The others don’t quiet entirely, but the hubbub is reduced enough that Senna takes Korra’s bare hands in hers and squeezes tight to say, “Korra, sweetheart? Are you all right?”

“I’ll live,” says Korra. “I wasn’t _completely_ stupid, I just only have the one good parka. Yeah, I can feel your hands, they’re really warm. Can I have breakfast?”

“Of course, of course,” says Senna. She rubs her hand over Korra’s back and narrows her eyes at the rest of the White Lotus. “You’ll get some dry clothes on and we can have breakfast together as a family.”

“We can have it in the stable with Naga.” Tonraq turns a warm, slightly bashful smile on Director Mutukan. “We won’t be long, you know, only an hour or two. I know where the kitchens are, so don’t put yourself out. We'd hate to interrupt an important meeting or anything.”

Katara claps her hands. “That sounds like an _excellent_ idea. Now, I’d like to fix up Korra as soon as I can, but Naga needs to have her harness taken care of immediately…”

A guard nearby, well used to Katara, steps up and bows. “I’ll take her, ma’am.” Naga graciously allows him to take the reins before she trots away towards the barn, the guard trailing behind at a jog.

The Director, to his credit, doesn’t visibly seethe too much at the situation being neatly pulled out of his hands as he withdraws. The same cannot be said for the rest of the White Lotus men and women muttering amongst themselves at his heels. Tenzin holds his ground long enough to look over Korra with an appraising eye.

She’s shivering, visibly aching in a damp parka thrown over lightweight dry spares, but her color is good, her stance solid enough. When Katara presses along her skull and questions her softly about what hurts and where, Korra answers with clarity and good humor. Her attention keeps dancing between her parents, her teacher, and sidelong looks at Tenzin.

“I hope you’re feeling better soon, Korra,” he says.

She stiffens, wide-eyed, before breaking into a grin. “It’d take a lot more than a little scrape to keep _me_ down. My other teachers all know better than to worry about me by now.”

“That is _exactly_ the problem.” Tenzin tucks his hands into his sleeves, trying and failing to suppress a sigh. “If that’s settled—“

“Ooooh no, Mister Tenzin,” says Senna, mock-stern as she shakes a finger at him. “Katara’s family, which means you’re family too. Please, join us, even if it’s just for tea.”

“Unless Korra objects, of course,” Katara says mildly.

Korra hears her cue and presses her arms to her chest, darting a glance up at him before she chances a shy smile that is every bit as honed as a good throwing knife. “Please could you come, Sifu Tenzin? Pretty please with honey and nutmeg and walnuts on top?”

She sounds like Ikki, the way Ikki will beg right before descending to his least-favorite tactic, ‘pester until her target gives in or goes off’. Even if he didn’t need a private moment with the White Lotus Society, Tenzin would refuse on that alone.

But Senna’s hopeful eyes are a mirror to her daughter’s, and Tonraq grips Korra’s shoulder as though he preparing to console her against a terrible disappointment, and his mother gives him that _look_ like a beach with the water sucked out from it, dry and empty, with a wave of disappointment building up a long ways out from shore. Tenzin bites back a sigh. “I suppose I’ll be joining you at the stables, then,” he says.

“Thank you thank you _thank_ you--ow, my _ribs_...”

Katara pats her shoulder none too gently as she steers her away. “Grovel later, dear, you’re almost frozen.”

\---------

Fresh clothes and a round of Sifu Katara’s healing abilities have Korra feeling enormously improved. “Look, I’m so sorry I missed breakfast. I didn’t think you’d be able to come, so I thought I’d go out and have some birthday fun while I could.” She stuffs another shred of pastry in her mouth, ignoring the sideways glances between her parents and her teachers. “How was I supposed to know the kitchen did something special? They forgot last year.”

“Ahh, forgetting. The province of cowards and the elderly.” Sifu Katara’s smile is beatific like the statue of the Moon Spirit displayed in her room.

“Korra got a little overzealous playing with her firebending,” Tonraq explains. “The kitchen crew weren’t in any real danger, but it was a little bit of a close call.”

“What in the world were you doing out there today, Korra? Were you attacked?” asks Tenzin.

Korra stares blankly at the airbender. “Um, no? I’m the _Avatar_? That was all gravity’s fault. And a little bit the tiger seal.”

Off to one side, Sifu Katara arches an eyebrow. Tenzin looks partly baffled, and partly like he really wants to get struck by lightning. “Come again?” Suddenly the family resemblance is uncanny.

Korra looks down at her breakfast, poking her chopsticks into her noodles. She’s _never_ going to hear the end of this.

“You know penguin sledding? It’s fun when you’re a kid, but I was too big for it by the time I was eleven.” Dead silence. She takes a bite. “Also, they’re way too easy to catch and I barely ever got to do it because I was always _here_. And this part of the coast is terrible for penguins. Well, I thought that if I was strong enough and fast enough to be the first person to ride a polar-bear dog—“

“The word you’re looking for is ‘stubborn’,” says her dad. He’s _grinning_. Today is awful.

“Whatever. But it’s my sixteenth birthday and I wanted to do something…” Korra waves her chopsticks in the air, searching for words, before she takes a decisive bite of egg and rice. “Different. Special, y’know?”

“Manners, Korra,” her mother says. Korra hastily swallows.

“You attempted to ride a _tiger seal?_ ” Tenzin’s eyes are _huge_.

Korra warms with gratitude that somebody recognizes the size and potential hazard of her achievement. “Yeah! I kind of did for a little bit, even! Didn’t make it all the way to the shore, but we, y’know, galumphed a ways out--”

“You were one big bruise and you were only not hypothermic because of your bending abilities,” Sifu Katara points out.

Korra wilts back down. “Okay, it didn’t work. But I got close, and the special thing wasn’t really important anyway.”

She looks Tenzin straight in the eye. Setting her chopsticks down, because this is _important_ , she bows as low as she dares with her bangs falling dangerously close to her food. “Meeting my airbending teacher is cooler than anything I could have done. It will be a huge honor to be your student.” She peeks up at Tenzin, but he just looks _really_ uncomfortable. “Seriously,” she adds.

His eyes won’t quite meet hers. “That may not be quite as soon as you’re hoping,” he says. “There are a number of factors under discussion.”

“Like…?”

“That’s White Lotus business, Avatar.”

There goes her appetite. “Just like old times, then,” she says. “Great.”

Breakfast kind of falls apart after that. Korra picks at her food, and Korra’s parents make stilted small talk with Sifu Katara about people from the village they all know. Tenzin is just as quiet as she is, but she won’t even look at him. He doesn’t want to teach her. At _all_.

Then a White Lotus guard comes in, asking for Tenzin alone, and Korra’s done. She slips out of her chair to cuddle next to Naga, who whuffles her hair and settles back into her nap. Naga has the best ideas.

Her parents notice, of course. Korra hears the soft scuff of her dad’s boots on the dirty floorboards as he approaches their corner, the rustle of her mother’s parka as she follows, and the thump of Sifu Katara’s cane before she brings them to a halt.

“Let her rest,” she hears her say, quiet enough that the rest of the room couldn’t hope to hear her. “Tenzin and the rest of these dunderheads haven’t been telling me anything, either, but they’re not my only resource.”

Between her teacher and her parents, Korra will catch everything she needs to know later. She buries her face in Naga’s fur and lets the slow drum of her best friend’s heart lull her to sleep.

\---------

Toktar leaves the desert behind with a spring in his step and the promise to write his clan the moment he arrives in Republic City. The entire Bone-Paper Clan pooled their resources to make sure he was well supplied for the journey—new brushes, new ink, the bulk of their finest paper, and as much money as they can spare to get him started, more than he’s ever held in his life.

He has a fine, swift writing hand, a better-than-average vocabulary, and an excellent memory. He’s strong, capable, and quick to learn. Republic City’s a big place, getting bigger every day, unlike the worn, aged hulk of Ba Sing Se or crowded Omashu with its complex web of family alliances no outsider can hope to break. All that Toktar can be for the clan is a guide, a warrior, a honey harvester, or a scribe, and they don’t need him for any of these. In the desert, he’s a dead end for the Bone-Paper Clan. In Republic City, he can be anything.

It doesn’t even take him a week to realize how wrong he is. The slippery accent the City people have is funny the first time he hears it, but he quickly realizes that they think _he’s_ the funny-sounding one. The ones who are willing to test Toktar’s dictation use words and idioms and location-names he’s never heard before and doesn’t yet know how to write. He loses his best brush in a gutter, and then he's forced to look for work as a manual laborer until he can afford a replacement.

He’s short, dark, and skinny, his face lined by sun and sandstorms to make him look twice as old as he is. The hiring folk pass him over when they’re on the lookout for strong and trustworthy dockworkers for their cargo. Never mind how many of them are lazy, dull, and unreliable--those who talk like locals are hired by them, and those who wear their homeland on their worn sleeves are given the brush-off.

It would be tolerable if this process treated every immigrant just as cruelly, if he could stand elbow-to-elbow with a hundred people as recently arrived as he and know that every one of them has had a door shut in their faces for reason of their birth alone. There’s community in hardship, and life in a sand sailor tribe means he’s no stranger to contempt.

In the cramped buildings where most recent immigrants live, though, he sees that the benders all move to better lodgings after a week, while everyone else has to sleep five to a room and share a toilet with the rest of their floor for at least a year. Benders in Republic City are guaranteed some kind of steady work no matter how shiftless and unskilled they are. Even if it it’s only handing out steaming teacups on street corners or shoving around earthbender trolleys in Na Sing Se, it would be money Toktar could save up for an apartment that doesn’t smell like mildew and rancid cabbage, maybe even sending the extra home to family in thanks for their support.

He stares down at the sad, watery-looking stuff these people call beer and wishes he could afford another glass or three.

“Rough day?”

Toktar almost tells the speaker where he can put his pity, but the words die on his lips. The man has the meaty build of a dockworker, but one outstretched leg is clamped in some kind of metal brace all the way up to the hip. Judging by the way he’s nursing his biao ji, it hurts even more than it looks.

“More like a rough fortnight,” he tells him instead. He takes an experimental swig of his own beverage and nearly spits it out.

“I’d offer to buy you another round,” says his neighbor, laughing, “but it looks like you discovered why no one buys the beer twice--it’s already been drunk once.”

“A warning would have been appreciated.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t, but nobody likes a nosey barfly. Well, here, I now have no reputation to lose. Call me Rung.” The man twists and bows around his bad leg with the elegance of an Earth Kingdom country lord. Toktar can’t hope to compare, so he settles for a workmanlike nod.

“Toktar, Bone-Paper Clan. From out near Lukchen,” he adds.

Rung scratches his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is.”

“South Si Wong desert.”

“All the way from _there_?” Rung looks visibly torn between respect and horror. “I can’t imagine making that trip even if I did have two working legs.”

With a laugh, Toktar explains, “I’m a sand sailor, so for the first leg of it I was on the back of my sister’s boat, free of charge. After that I traded scribing for cart rides. I think I might be the first sand sailor to live in Republic City--everyone was all so proud of me.”

“I’m sure they still are.”

His new friend sounds so soft and kind that Toktar has to fix his eyes down the weak fizzing of his beer, the better to hide his eyes. “My family assumed I’d be thriving in my new career by now,” he tells his glass. “I can barely get by as a dockworker. I haven’t been able to send a letter to my home clan since the week I arrived. What am I supposed to say? ‘ _I’m a very expensive failure, send money_ ’? Maybe it will be best if my brother and sister believe I died.”

“You can’t think that!”

A hand on his arm. Toktar jerks free with a scowl.

Rung holds his hands up in a gesture of peace, but he has Toktar’s full attention now, and makes the most of it. “They must be so worried, you fool--you have to tell them you’re all right, at the very least.”

“I _can’t_.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Rung asks softly. “You’re smart, you’re strong. Scribing’s hard work, so you ought to be clever, too. I can’t think of why you wouldn’t be hired already.”

“Me either,” Toktar says sourly. “Am I so inadequate? Are the crowroaches of Republic City so superior to a desert gullrat? No offense to you, I mean!”

“None taken. My own parents were called skittish country rabbiroos to the day they died,” says Rung. He sighs. “You know, it would be different if you were a bender.”

“You’re _noticed_?” Toktar cries, wide-eyed. The injustice burns up from his gut, a churning, gritty ache like a sandstorm on the horizon. “I can’t talk to anyone else about it without them looking at me like I’ve been out in the sun too long! I don’t sound that different, I don’t look that bad, I can write at triple the speed and clarity of any average person and I can make finer paper than theirs in my sleep. But the only way anyone gets a decent job without a miracle on their side is if they’re a bender. As a non-bender, I’m stuck moving crates at the docks--”

“You mean founder.”

More city slang Toktar doesn’t know. “What? Show me how to write it.”

Rung dips his fingertip in spilled beer to write on the bar. “What do you mean calling yourself a _non-bender_?” he says. “You’re a good, normal guy; they’re the ones that are non- _something_. We were here first, Toktar. We’re called founders.”

The word he’d written is one Toktar’s more familiar with as a person who establishes something—an organization, a dynasty, a company. Toktar rolls it around in his head. _'Founder’_. It’s not bad.

Rung continues speaking, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Republic City was made for benders. For _non-founders_. Didn’t have to be that way--still doesn’t, I like this city even though it needs some help--but you can’t escape the fact that _they_ thought it up, _they_ built it, _they_ fund it, and it is for theirs and their own.”

“Most people aren’t even benders,” Toktar says. “It doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Silk and snot are close, but not friends. One is better-liked and the other is more easily found.”

“Hah! That’s a good one, maybe I’ll put that in the letter. Along with ‘founders’,” says Toktar. His smile fades. “Most people call us sandbenders, you know, when they’re talking about my people. When they’ve heard of us at all. It’s irritating. We’re sand _sailors_ —we can fly over the sand with or without our benders, although with them they’re a little more agile. But most people only ever remember the bending.”

Rung shakes his head. “And a damn shame that is, throwing away your people’s real legacy. Look, you’re a good guy, Toktar, and I think you’ve got some real skills that could be better put to use elsewhere. Lemme introduce you to some friends of mine, and we’ll see if we maybe can’t work something out.”


	2. Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the end notes for warnings. I'll warn for everything I can think of, let me know if I miss something and I'll fix it ASAP. Rating-wise, I tend to aim for something I'd feel comfortable letting a young teenager read, so probably no excessive on-screen violence and nothing explicit.

Korra wakes up with a jolt for no real reason, sees the angle of the light, and spends several heart-pounding seconds trying to determine which lessons she’s missed and who’s going to be angry at her now. Then she recalls the catastrophic attempt at tiger seal sledding, realizes that that was the _least_ horrible disaster of the day, and buries her face in her hands.

Somewhere nearby is the soft scrape of a teacup. “Does your head hurt?”

“Only because it’s trying to _explode from embarrassment_ ,” says Korra. “Hi, Sifu Katara. What’d I miss?”

“A lot of shouting,” Sifu Katara says wryly. “I almost wish you were there. Your parents yelled, Tenzin yelled, I yelled. We won’t speak of the collective temper tantrum the White Lotus threw.”

“ _Uuuuugh_.”

“Exactly. I think the Director raised his voice _twice_.”

“Really? How come?”

Katara’s smile looks... off. “We’ll talk about that on the way,” she says. Standing up, she holds out her hands. “Come on, you need to get going, I hear you have birthday presents to open.”

Overheated and fuzzy-headed from her nap, Korra mumbles, “ _Presents,_ ” into Naga’s fur and lets Sifu Katara pull her up, careful to take most of her own weight herself.

Before she goes, she buries her hands in Naga’s ruff and gives her a good scratch. “Be good, okay, girl?”

Her polar bear dog heaves a sigh.

“I’ll bring you back treats later.”

Outside is far, far too bright, with way too many guards standing at attention everywhere for Korra to feel entirely comfortable. Usually they cluster in corners, take long breaks, and more-or-less ignore Korra unless she starts pestering them about pro-bending broadcasts or the Midnight Monkeyfalcon's latest serial. Between Tenzin and the new batch of ranking White Lotus people, though, it looks like the running Go-Stop tournament and all their other distractions have been canceled for the day.

”Your parents decided you've earned a break and a party today,” says Sifu Katara, trudging steadily along behind. “In their part of the guest quarters, since there’s more in that kitchen than tea and jerky. Tenzin’s even supposed to come by later if you want—he liked Tonraq and Senna, he brought them here from town on Oogi this morning.”

Happiness instantly washes away Korra’s sleepy gloom. “Really? That’s _awesome!_ ”

She jump-kicks a jet of flame into the air—some of the guards out don’t look too thrilled about that, whoops—and then bounces back down on a slide of ice, tumbling into a quick hug with Katara. “I’ll be good, I won’t ask him for anything—but if he likes my parents, that has to mean he didn’t really mean it, right? So is he gonna train me here or in Republic City? Or technically Air Temple Island, I guess.”

“Well.” Sifu Katara’s smile slips away. “That depends.”

“On _what?_ ” At her shout, a dozen White Lotus people whip around to stare. Korra sneers, “Yeah, what are _you_ lookin’ at?” and they jerk their attention back to their duties just as swiftly, right as Katara touches her elbow.

“Nothing’s been settled yet, Korra, please calm down. Tenzin is resistant to having you leave the compound, but he has duties in Republic City that mean he can’t stay here.”

“What kind of duties could he possibly have? I’m the _Avatar!_ ”

Sifu Katara levels a look at her that has Korra squirming inside. “Well, Tenzin has three children with a fourth on the way, and he’s got to train them all, and then there’s temple leadership, and that’s when he’s not with the Council of Nations...”

“Okay, so he’s a little busy,” Korra concedes. “Why can’t _I_ leave, then? I’ve always wanted to see the world! That’s, like, my whole job. I can do that, Sifu Katara, I’m more than ready. I was _born_ ready. Literally!” 

About half a second too late, Korra realizes that was maybe a dumb thing to say to the previous Avatar’s widow. "Sort of. I mean..." Katara's usually pretty cool about it, but it's her birthday. Also known as _the day the last Avatar reincarnated as a dumb kid_. "Sorry."

Sifu Katara lets her stew for a moment before she cracks into a tiny smile. “I know. It's not something you need to be sorry about. I promise, you’ll hear about it in detail later, once Tenzin’s finished setting up with the White Lotus.” 

As they near the long, narrow building where visitors to the compound normally stay, Katara lowers her voice. “There have been... incidents on the Continent. Indications that you would be at risk.”

Korra blinks at her. “More than weird Avatar Aang fans? Is it the Earth Kingdom or something?” She’s a little hazy on the details, but technically, the section of the continent now under the United Republic’s domain used to belong to a scattering of Earth Kingdom villages before Fire Nation colonists came. “I can’t see the Fire Nation really trying to get Republic City and all that back—“

“Zuko would throw himself down an active volcano before he let that happen,” Katara assures her. “The Fire Lord too. No, the problem lies within the City itself. Small things, not a lot of people, but Tenzin...”

Her footsteps falter, then carry on. “He worries.”

If Korra were a polar bear dog, her ears would have shot straight up. “Tenzin worries about _me_?”

“Yes, _you,_ silly. You’re the Avatar.”

“Oh.” Hunching her shoulders, Korra kicks the snow. “Well. If there’s trouble, the _Avatar_ should be fixing it anyway. ”

“Calm down. What I _meant_ was that you’re a new airbending student for him, one he’s not going to have to fix breakfast for in the morning or tuck in at night.” Katara smiles as she nudges Korra’s ribs with her elbow. “ _I_ think he’s been looking forward to it, personally.”

They round the corner of the library at precisely the moment Tenzin bursts from the front door of the guest quarters, red overrobe flapping and face drawn into a thunderous scowl. 

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” Korra says. 

"I’ll admit it wasn't the best way you could have met him, but he’ll forgive you if you give him a chance. Try to remember that I raised that boy from diapers."

Fighting down a laugh—she’s too worried about her airbending lessons to find anything about Tenzin funny, really—Korra says, "He must've been the grumpiest baby _ever_."

“Actually, he was a very cheerful baby. I always said it was because everyone was so happy to see him the first time that every other birthday failed to compare.”

As Tenzin storms closer, Korra squares her shoulders. “A cheerful baby,” she tells herself. “It's okay.” Taking one last, deep breath, she steps up to wave a nice, normal hello.

Without breaking stride, Tenzin snaps, ” _Please_ keep to yourself for now, Avatar. I’ll speak with you in an hour.” Fists clenched, snow swirling in his wake, he’s gone around the corner and out of view before Korra can utter a word.

She stands there with her mouth open like an idiot for the longest time, listening to his footsteps fade into the distance, and wishes she hadn’t left her best friend sleeping in the barn. “Well. Oookay then.” 

Sifu Katara rests a hand on her shoulder. “Korra—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” she says quickly, “Let’s just go hang out with Mom and Dad a while. No big deal, I didn’t even think he was coming today.” Korra tries to look brave and cheerful and competent as she walks to the door still swinging from Tenzin’s forceful exit. “It can wait a while, right? I’m in no hurry at all. Everything is gonna be just _fine._ ”

\---------

Asami spends most of her morning in the depths of the Sato home testing garage, tinkering with a design for a lightweight, portable electric fan and wishing it were already commercially available. It’s not quite noon yet and Republic City is already sweltering in summer’s last gasp. Even the overly peppy radio announcer sounds a little wilted as he jabbers about the rising temperatures ‘cooking up a crime wave among the hotheads of Republic City’.

“Miss Asami?”

Her maid’s voice is barely audible above the radio. Asami clicks it off and tucks her pencil behind her ear.

“Miss Duong is in the red sitting room. If you would like, I will have barley tea ready to share in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, thank you, Tran! I wasn’t expecting her or I would have said something to you.” It’s apparently been quite a week for the Council and the municipal government; her friend’s entire family are civil servants of some kind or another and she’s always kept hopping when politics are afoot. “She doesn’t really like barley tea, though. If you could you bring her some water while I get changed--"

“Silly goose, there’s no need for that. Tran, thank you for letting me in.”

Duong nudges the door open and steps into the garage with a shake of her short hair as if she did such a thing every day, rather than following her usual routine of letting one of the servants lead her someplace clean with a window where she can wait until Asami is presentable. Her violet-and-yellow dress is old and out of fashion, but it _is_ spotless. Meanwhile, Asami is keenly aware of the grease and soot all over herself and most of her corner of the garage. “How are the wires and engines, Asami?”

“They’re fine, Duong.” Asami stands up and tries to remember where she left the not-as-scuffed-and-dirty stool. “Tran, thank you, I can take care of her from here." The maid ducks her head and vanishes.

Asami can barely reconcile her impeccably stylish friend with the setting of the filthy gray garage. “What brings you _here?_ ”

“Heat, boredom, and mortal terror of Mister Sato,” Duong says promptly. “Don’t bother looking for a chair, I thought I’d just follow you to your room and wait by the door while you change.”

“I told you, I’m not going to any bending tournaments until Dad calms down.” Asami knocks the grime off her hands and rolls up her drawings before following Duong to the door. “He’s never said anything, but he’s never really gotten over how Mom died. He doesn’t like it when I go anyway, and he nearly had a heart attack when we came back late last time.”

Duong shudders. “I’m not going to forget the night I came within a toe’s length to being fed to the big boiler. Just because he’s weird about bending doesn’t mean you have to suffer, Asami. He’s been busy all week, right? You’ll want to see this.”

She has that conspiratorial tone she gets after she’s put together a secret from her usual sources. Asami groans. “All right, I’ll ask. What is it?”

“So the earthbender for the Jeweled Tigers, today’s scheduled highlight team, was arrested yesterday afternoon for, you’ll laugh, _public intoxication and bending city property_. The team doesn’t have the money for his bail, so they would’ve had to forfeit, except the entire Monkeyfalcon team is so sick they’d already forfeited first.”

“If they can’t hold a match anymore, did the management rent out the arena for a performance?” Asami shakes her hair out of its loose bun, frowning. “I went to one of those once, they’re boring. And it’ll be even worse on a hot day like this.”

“No, there’s a match today,” Duong says eagerly. “The management ran around looking for any team with all members handy who were willing to play on the cheap without gaining standing in the tournament rankings. The openers are terrible—we’ll miss most of those—but for the last match of the day they managed to get the Elephant Koi and the _Foxalopes_.”

Asami stares at her friend. “Seriously? But they _never_ play each other, not since that accident—”

“I _know_ , right? I guess they must have needed the money. The match is going to be amazing.” She pushes the door to Asami’s bedroom open and hops onto the bed. “I’ll be so sad if I can’t go and see them with my dearest, most beloved pro-bending fanatic friend…”

“All right, all right, you win!” Asami says, her hands flung up in surrender.

Duong alternates between smugly needling her and picking apart the teams’ strengths and weaknesses out loud. Asami ducks her head in a washbasin before she gets dressed behind a screen. The dust-metal-machine oil smell of the garage is shed with her jumpsuit and a quick scrub of her hands, but soaking her thick hair before she goes out will keep her cool for an hour at least, welcome relief from the heat of the bending arena.

When she’s wrung out the excess water, Duong helps her twist her hair up at the back of her head, securing it all with enameled brass pins. Not Asami’s favorites, but her father doesn’t like her wearing her best jewelry to the crowded stadium and she’s willing to concede his point.

“I’ll wait at the front door while you get the car,” Duong says. “If I don’t see you in ten minutes, I’ll assume your father put you in a dungeon until your thirtieth birthday.”

“Duong...” Asami protests, but the other young woman has already disappeared.

She hurries down the stairs, light on her feet as she grabs her slippers out of their cubby near the front door before padding over to the western servant’s entrance. Her father’s not an angry man--certainly not to the extent that would justify Duong’s not-entirely-feigned fear of him--but it’s easier just to keep from upsetting him if she can help it.

Luck is with her: she makes it to the key cabinet and out the door without so much as a whisper of her father’s presence. The garage for the family vehicles is a long stretch of pavement away from the house, one of the few obvious clues to the days when the Sato family home and business headquarters was an Earth Kingdom manor house that kept its noisy, smelly stables at a polite distance. The interior of the garage is stifling, illuminated only by the high windows meant to discourage horse thieves and troublemakers.

She’s halfway to the Satomobile of her choice before a polite cough has her jumping nearly out her skin.

“Asami, where are you going?”

It takes her a moment to catch her breath. “Daddy, you scared the daylights out of me,” Asami says, hand pressed to her fluttering heart. She squints into the shadows. “I haven’t seen you at all recently. I thought you were scheduled to talk with one of the potential investors?”

With her eyes better adjusted to the dark, she can just pick out her father from the far end of the garage. He’s kneeling next to a red Maple-model Satomobile, screwdriver in hand as he takes apart its headlights.

“Potential, nothing. He _is_ an investor now," Hiroshi Sato says smugly. Up close, she can tell he’s changed into his greasy working clothes, but his hair and mustache are still glossy with sweet-smelling pomade. “I can’t talk about the details, but it was quite the coup, my dear. I’ve bought myself the time to toy with engines alongside my favorite daughter today.”

Asami squirms, saying nothing, but she can’t keep her discomfort off her face. Hiroshi takes a look at her and sets the screwdriver down.

“Was there any particular reason you came to the garage?” he asks.

Her hands twist on her purse strap. “One of my friends came by and wanted to go to the city.”

“Any friend I know?”

His words are light, but the voice is taut like a pulled spring, ready to slam back into place once the tension is released. Asami’s stomach roils.

“Just Duong, you’ve met her, she’s waiting at the front door,” she says in a rush. “There’s a pro-bending match today that isn’t part of the tournament rankings, and she thought it would be fun if I could go with her to see. We’d only be staying for the last match and then I thought we could have a bite to eat before I came home. I’ll bring you anything you like for dinner after. It wouldn’t be late, Dad, and I miss seeing her...”

“I see,” says Hiroshi. He's quiet.

Asami thinks of the pair of desks in their home library, one overflowing with an ever-changing array of financial records and calculations, the other eternally bare but for paper, an ink stone, and a dish of hair clips.

“And you were going to sneak out on me.”

“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t even know you were _home_.”

“That’s the point there, isn’t it? You never would have even gone if you thought I’d catch you.”

He’s not shouting. Not really. But he’s a big-voiced man naturally, and Asami’s hyper-aware of how much pain he must be in.

“ _Dad_ , it’s not that I don’t—“

Hiroshi Sato holds up his hand, and Asami falls silent.

“I know, I know,” he says, more calmly. “I won’t stop you. Have a good time with your friend.”

Asami lowers her eyes. By now she feels so horrible she almost doesn’t want to go anymore, but that would make it even worse. “Thank you, Dad,” she whispers.

“That’s all right, Asami,” he says, but his eyes are all hollow.

Then he shakes his head, as if grief were stray hair falling into his eyes, and gives her a brighter smile. “Now, do you have enough money? If you’re taking the Willow, don’t forget to bring along an extra fuel tank. And keep an eye on the temperature gauge in this weather, all right?”

“I’m fine, I’ll remember,” Asami says. Her voice has been choked to a whisper, even though she _knows_ he’s mostly forgiven her. “Thank you for asking.”

Her father beckons for her to come close. When she complies, it's with a tiny hesitation she hates herself for.

He clasps her hands in his, and the knot of guilt in her stomach eases. She’ll be greasy, and if she’s not careful she’s going to ruin her dress or the car, but it’s a gesture of comfort and he _means_ well, truly. He always does. He just wants the best for his daughter.

“I appreciate it, Dad,” she says, more normally this time. She presses a kiss to his forehead. “I won’t be out too late.”

\---------

The party isn’t much of a party with just Korra and her parents in one little spare guest suite, but they do okay. Her mom and dad tell her funny stories about repairing power lines, and Korra pulls off an only slightly mean-spirited imitation of her Fire Nation wilderness survival teacher, who accidentally burned three pairs of gloves with his own fire while he taught her about the dangers of humidity and tropical storms. 

Nobody’s hungry, but there’s tea for politeness’s sake. It's also good for washing down a nibble from the packet of dried sea prunes Korra's mom gives her every year. Korra does her best to hide her disappointment when Mom’s other gift is just an envelope with a card. 

"Thanks, Mom," Korra says, smiling brightly. "I can't wait to see--"

"Don't sound so excited yet, Korra." Senna's tone hints that Korra should work on her not-disappointed-face more. "Open it, go on."

There’s a cute drawing of lucky baturongs on the front, which is... okay, but nothing spectacular. After all, Korra's favorite animal is Naga. Inside the card is a little scribbled note. Korra doesn't read it, though, because the card also holds a catalog clipping, a paragraph of design specifications next to a picture of—

“A _radio?!_ ” Korra clutches the paper in her hands tight enough to crease. “For me? Really?”

“It’s still in transit, but it’s yours,” Senna assures her. “No more sneaking into the junior White Lotus breakroom during your study hours. You’re old enough for your free time to be your own.”

“All right! I can hear _all_ the games, and catch a show maybe, and I can learn all the words to—“

Tonraq holds up a box wrapped in old newspapers and twine. Korra shuts up and instantly snatches it out of his hand. “My gift isn’t nearly as impressive,” he says, “but I hope you’ll get a chance to use it soon.”

The box contains, of all things, a plush ball, patterned and colored like a White Lotus tile. Korra raises her eyebrows at her father in frank disbelief. “What the heck?”

“It’s a pincushion,” he says, grinning. “See the needles?”

There _are_ needles in it, five different sizes of shiny steel stuck into the face of the flower. Korra snickers as she lifts it out, until she realizes the pincushion isn’t the only gift in the box. 

There’s spools of thread inside in two dozen colors that _aren’t_ Water Tribe blue-gray-white or White Lotus white-gray-beige. Fire Nation reds, Earth Kingdom greens, a range of browns used by a number of nations, cool purples like her Northern Water Tribe cousins favor, greenish-yellows, muted pinks. The most startling colors are the electric blue-greens, the reddish violets, and a few spools of yellows and oranges she’s never seen anyone wear before this morning, when she met Tenzin.

Korra doesn’t cry. Her throat just feels a little tight, that’s all, and her nose is running because her tea was too hot.

“You’re not going to be here forever,” Tonraq says gently. “You belong to more than the White Lotus. These are _all_ your colors.” 

“But you’ll always be ours,” her mother adds. “You know that, right?”

Korra’s chair gets knocked to the floor in her haste to give them a hug. 

“Thank you thank you _thank you_ ,” she whispers, and sniffs back the snot threatening to ooze onto their shirts. “You’re the best, seriously, I’m sorry I was such a loser this morning, I was just, just...“ Words fail her, as usual.

“Love you too,” her mom says, slightly strained. “Can we get a little air now?”

There’s a familiar light knock on the doorframe. “Speaking of air...” 

With one last smile of gratitude, Korra steps away from her parents and pulls her parka off its hook. “Tenzin’s ready for me?”

Sifu Katara laughs. “Never. But he’s set up whatever he wants to do.”

Even though she could walk the whole compound blindfolded, Korra has to stick with walking by Katara at the slowest pace ever. “Tenzin wants to get an idea of who you are, so he decided to give you a test," says Sifu Katara, pretending she can't tell Korra would like her to pick up the pace a little. “Or a series of tests, I guess.”

“Tests on what? I can’t really do airbending yet, and it’s not like he’s a master firebender on the side or something...”

“He’s looked over reports of your previous water, earth, and firebending assessments, he doesn’t need any more of that. I don’t think he wants you doing any bending at all.”

They’re almost at the foot of the steps to the White Lotus building, and Korra is furious. “No bending? What the heck am I suppo _mmmph!_ ” 

Katara’s gloved hand is clapped over Korra’s mouth, filling her nose with the comforting smells of leather, grease, and seawater. “Hush _,_ ” she says. Korra bobs her head.

Although her stern expression melts a fraction, Sifu Katara’s hand remains firmly in place. “Don’t panic. He’s only testing you on what you know and what you’re really like. It’ll be fine. You’ll show Tenzin what a strong, brilliant Avatar you are, and when he’s done, you’ll be packing for Republic City. Ready?"

Korra rolls her eyes. “ _Mnnh mrrmhhn_.”

“Good.” Sifu Katara takes her hand away. “All right. Now show him what the Avatar's really made of."

Korra roll her shoulders, cracks her knuckles, and looks up at the door. “Any advice?”

“Don’t panic,” Katara says. “And _listen_ to Tenzin. You don’t have to like him, but you do have to respect him.”

“Gotcha.” Korra gives her quick hug before she skips up to the top of the steps. One last check of her hair and her teeth in the darkened glass of a window, and Korra opens up the front door.

“Master Tenzin? It’s me. Uh, Avatar Korra.”

\-------

Bolin rushes along to the outer edge of the pro-bending stadium with slightly less care than he should have for the groceries in his bag. All right, there’s maybe a few eggs in there and a handful of herbs and possibly a jar of mealworms for Pabu he ought to be careful of, but there’s supposed to be a _really_ great match scheduled tonight (the Foxalopes versus the Elephant Koi, whose strengths are perfectly balanced against each other and they have a _ridiculous_ massive rivalry going back like three years) and if he’s quick, he can catch the last one or two rounds.

But he paid good money for the food, and he really is watching where he’s going. He makes it within sight of the service entrance to the stadium before somebody bangs into him out of _nowhere_.

The mealworm jar (stashed at the top, because _nobody_ tries to steal mealworms unless they really need ‘em more than Bolin does) goes flying out, shattering on the street.

“Hey, what was _that_ for?”

The man who whacked into him gives him a long, unreadable look. He’s pale, skinny, almost sickly-looking, with a thin mustache along his upper lip. “You going into the arena?”

Bolin tips his head, staring, until he’s sure it’s not a trick question. The arena and the plaza next to it take up an entire city block. From where they’re standing, there is literally nowhere else for him to go unless he decides to climb down a sewer grate. “Uh. Yeah?”

“You going to the match?”

Bolin shakes his head. “Don’t have tickets. And I’m not allowed to let other people in, either, so don’t even try asking. I'll get in _way_ too much trouble.”

The man leans in close, much too close, his breath washing over Bolin’s face. Kind of literally, there’s a little spit involved. _Nasty_. “Then how do you get in?”

“Because I live there and security knows me?”

“Well. You’re just full of helpful information.” The man pulls back, and Bolin takes in a gulp of blessedly-cleaner-smelling air. “Thank you for your cooperation, little fellow. What was your name again?”

Already bristling at ‘little fellow’, Bolin snaps, “None of your business, _pal._ ”

“What an interesting name, for me and for you. I hope we’ll meet again, None Of Your Business.”

With that, he melts back into the shadows. Bolin _swears_ he can just hear the shuffle of a few too many feet in the darkness beyond the street lamps. “Okay, _that?_ Was creepy.”

Once he's got the heebie jeebies under control, Bolin takes a second to earthbend the dirt and mealworms together. He’s feeling itchy and exposed, though, and does a lousy job of it; the mealworms are probably pulverized. “Whoops. Sorry, little guys, you’re going to be food anyway.”

Groceries reassembled, Bolin hurries inside. He may have missed the match, but maybe they’ll be replaying it on the radio.

They aren’t playing it on the radio yet, damn them, but he has it on anyway because he likes listening to the news. It’s gossip on a bigger scale, and it pays to be able to chat with shopkeepers about the latest municipal woes. There’s a lady on Rag Street who gives him a little extra thread if he spends a few minutes commiserating about how the city’s elite take _far_ too many liberties with the safety of factory workers.

“Bolin. Is there anything to eat yet?”

Speaking of.

“It’s on the table, Mako,” he says, not bothering to turn from the dishes. “Just cleaning up a little bit.”

“That’s… good. Thanks.”

There’s the heavy thud and dull screech of springs protesting someone flopping too heavily into the ancient, sagging couch, and then silence. Bolin turns his head.

Mako is a _mess_. Pale, breathing shallow and fast, like he just can’t convince his lungs to open up for enough air, he’s huddled into his jacket, shivering. The way he’s sunk into the ratty couch cushions tells Bolin he’s probably not going to be getting up for a while.

“ _Again_ , Mako? Really?” Bolin flings the wet towel at the wall, where it doesn’t thump as heavily as he’d like. “You cabbage-brained idiot, I thought you were staying at the cotton mill!“

“Don’t argue with me, Bolin.” His brother is so wrecked he has to draw a couple of breaths before he can speak again. “...Water?”

Bolin sighs.

He sets a teapot to boil, gets Mako’s cup of water and his bowl of shrimp, noodles, and vegetables off the table. When he sits down next to him, he holds out the water glass.

“Drink _half_ ,” he says. “Then I take it back and you eat dinner.”

Mako tries to accept the cup, but his muscles are clearly about to fail him the second the full weight of it ends up in his hands. Bolin takes a moment to drink half of it himself before he returns it to his brother.

He drinks. Water dribbles out onto his sooty shirt, littered with the dark flecks Bolin knows all too well are burnt spots from stray sparks. He smells like smoke and lightning; good, comforting smells when Mako isn’t gray and trembling with exhaustion.

The cup almost falls from his hand. Bolin rescues it before tugging Mako into sitting more-or-less upright, then rests the bowl in his brother’s lap and stands. “Lemme turn off the radio.”

“Leave it on,” Mako says hoarsely. He picks up the chopsticks, turning his attention down to the bowl.

Bolin darts into the kitchen in search of _anything_ he can wash while his brother eats. When Mako does this, he’s always so tired by the time dinner rolls around that he can barely _handle_ chopsticks, and the mess embarrasses him. It reminds them both of the times (only two, but easily some of the worst of his life) when Bolin’s had to take over and feed him bite by bite while he shakes in place.

The floor. The floor needs sweeping, they always leave the windows open and it’s been a couple days, let’s sweep the floor. Floor doesn’t sound like a word anymore. And Bolin should talk, because Bolin is _so good_ at talking. “Ran into Skoochy again today.”

“Yeah?”

“Ah, the little guy’s fine, still fleecing tourists and the Triads like they’re all one and the same. It’s a good thing he’s too fast and useful for anyone to catch.”

“You hope.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye: Mako’s pulling the couch blanket over himself, tugging it high over his chest. He’s kicked off his shoes already, leaving his feet bare to the cold. It’s typical firebender idiocy, protecting the core and leaving the vital extremities to freeze because they’re used to putting out enough heat that they don’t have to care. Bolin doesn’t say anything about it, though, just lets him rest.

“He says you owe him money--which I’m betting is a lie, so I didn’t give him anything--and he says scrap metal’s selling really well these days. Somebody’s trying to set up an unofficial bending ring where that overland shipping warehouse used to be--Fire Flower Victory, you remember? I worked there a couple years ago?”

“I remember,” says Mako. A slurp or two. Then, “Butakha’s not gonna stand for that.”

“Yeah, city officials didn’t like it either, they were all, ‘ _but what about safety_ ’ and ‘ _we can’t let that kind of thing go on without regulations_ ’.” Bolin stabs the broom viciously at the floor. “Like that’s stopped them from letting the deathtrap factories eat a dozen people a week. They just don’t want to miss out on any hot bender-on-bender action. Specifically, mine.”

Mako snorts, gasps. Bolin’s about to tell him it’s not his fault he’s a comedic genius when he realizes Mako’s choking, sucking in air and not getting enough. It’s horrible, raw, and the sound as his throat catches on nothing just stutters on and on--

Bolin’s dropped the broom and run over to the couch, taking away the bowl and shoving Mako forward so he can get his head between his knees and _calm the hell down_. “Take it easy, Mako, c’mon, don’t forget how to breathe on me. You’d never forgive me if we missed who won the Foxalope-Elephant Koi throwdown today--"

“’lephant… Koi,” Mako wheezes.

“No way. The Foxalopes have that earthbender who does that _awesome_ double kick strike.“

More wheezing, but Mako’s getting his breath back. “Koi have that… that waterbender…”

“Blech. _That guy_.” Bolin scowls. The waterbender’s favorite move is saturating the hell out of the opposing team’s earth discs in midair so he can take control and fling its soggy remains back in their faces. “He violates my calling as an earthbender with the soggy thing. I _hate_ the soggy thing.”

“Jealous,” Mako whispers.

“Of course I’m jealous. The son of a boll weevil has put an otherwise mediocre team in the upper tiers while our otherwise flawless dynamic duo limps along with tragically untalented hacks.” Bolin clasps his hands under his chin. “Take one for the team, Mako. For the good of the Fire Ferrets. _Seduce him onto our roster_. I mean, obviously I’d be better suited for honey trap duty, but honor would bid that I strangle him on sight and that’s really not first-date material.”

By the end of Bolin’s impassioned plea, Mako’s smiling for real. Praise their every benevolent ancestor, he _doesn’t_ laugh. Bolin’s nerves really can’t handle an attack like that twice. He helps Mako sit back up, feels his forehead (much better) and watches until he’s sure Mako has the strength to take his dinner back himself and start eating.

Bolin wiggles backwards into his corner of the couch, crosses his arms. “So. What happened with the mill?”

Mako takes another bite and answers with his mouth full. “The other guys on the shop floor. They found out I was a firebender.”

“So?”

“One of them, his brother-in-law needed a job. Factory wasn’t hiring until someone died or quit. Told the supervisor I was a safety hazard.” He waves a hand in the air, weak and fluttering. “There’s all this stuff in the air from the thread, the fabric. _Really_ flammable. Nobody’s allowed to smoke nearby, nothing that might spark is allowed around.” He twists his face up into a bitter smile. “Guess that includes me.”

“This is me, not saying anything about how you promised me you’d _never_ go back to the bending power facility again.”

“I had to!”

“We made rent for the month! We’ve got grocery money!”

Mako slumps in place, rubs his forehead. “We _had_ grocery money. Butakha’s upping the entry fee again, and if we can’t pull the money together…”

Bolin leans forward just far enough to punch Mako in the shoulder.

“HEY!”

“If I came back from slamming a pedal at the bending power facility so tired I had to drag myself up the stairs, you’d dunk me in the harbor until I promised never to do that again. And then? I would _keep that promise_. But you, you’re above that, so you get to make me watch you kill yourself by pouring everything you’ve got into a wire?”

Mako shifts uneasily. “That’s different. Earthbending--"

“It’s _all_ bending, Mako. It all comes from the same place. Scraping yourself empty like that is _so bad_ for you, man, you don’t see what you look like when you come back from that.” Bolin tugs the end of the blanket down over his feet. “Don’t scare me like that anymore.”

It’s quiet in the apartment, then. Just the brothers, their fire ferret, and the radio, crackling away about rumors from ‘sources close to the Council’ about some crisis or other that doesn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Paternal emotional abuse via guilt and anger, seeing a loved one sick with exhaustion, financial worry.

**Author's Note:**

> Like a lot of people, I was awfully disappointed in canon by the time Season 1 was over. Poor pacing, wasted character arcs, and narrative decisions that grated when compared to the thoughtful soul of its predecessor, even way back in ATLA's quick and cheap first season. But the bare _concept_ was so cool, and the characters as we first met them were so promising, I couldn't just write it all off entirely. So... this happened. 
> 
> It's not a canon _divergence_ , there's no specific point in the timeline where this branches off. It's drawing heavily from the first few episodes of Season 1 as far as characterization and a couple major events go, but that's it. There will be no straight-up recycling from the show, especially since this is going for a different direction--it was mostly all plotted out before Season 1 was even over.
> 
> Let me know what you think. I'm working on this in my off-time during a difficult semester, along with another monster fic in a different fandom, so updates'll be a little sporadic. I do apologize.


End file.
